To Choose One
by three-golden-mockingjays
Summary: Caesar Flickerman tries to think of the tributes he interviews as numbers and nothing more, but as a man of words and emotions that's a bit hard. So instead he allows himself one tribute every year to feel for. Short pieces on fifty three children who've touched a hardened man's heart.
1. Prologue

Every year there are twenty four of them.

* * *

_24 x 74 = 1,776_

* * *

Every year, twenty three of them die.

* * *

_23 x 74 = 1,702_

* * *

Well, except for in the 74th year. That year, twenty two die.

* * *

_1,702 - 1 = 1,701_

* * *

Caesar Flickerman was familiar with these figures. Figures had not always been something he was into. At school, and as a young man, it was very much words. Words were so malleable, so flexible. He used to twist them in his favour.

Numbers, however, were harsh and unforgiving, definite and unchangeable. Caesar hated them as a school boy, and was no good at them at all. However, he now found relief in them, if only doing basic sums. He didn't have to think about how to phrase numbers. A three is a three, no matter how you say it. Two plus one. Eleven minus eight. It is all the same.

If you twisted words around that much, the meaning would change entirely. And while that had entranced the young Caesar Flickerman, and indeed helped him climb the Capitolite ladder, he now grew sick of the constant thought one must apply to words. Numbers may be harsher, but they're simpler as well.

In total, one hundred and ninety eight twelve year olds had been reaped for the Hunger Games. Caesar Flickerman had interviewed one hundred and fourteen of them. Every single one of them had died.

* * *

_198/1176 x 100 = 16.8367_

* * *

He knew the percentages of all the ages. Eighteen year olds made up over twenty three per cent of the one thousand, seven hundred and seventy six.

All in all, the numbers taught Caesar the horror in a gentler way than the words did. Words made it real, big, devastating. If you looked at maths, one thousand, seven hundred and seventy six wasn't that big in an infinite sprawl of numbers. More children than that died of pneumonia in the northern districts every year. But words? Words brought the numbers to life. One thousand, seven hundred and seventy six turned into a mass of trembling children. Dying at the hands of each other. Dying far from home. Crying and bleeding into the dirt.

Relative or not, one thousand, seven hundred and seventy six children was a lot to Caesar Flickerman. Perhaps it's because, at heart, Caesar would always be a man of words, not numbers.

* * *

Knowing the facts, Caesar knew that most of the children he spoke to were going to die. In order to handle it, he did three things. He told himself that he was helping the children by giving them a voice. He told himself that he was not making the Hunger Games more possible. If he were to step down, they would continue as they always did. He told himself that they were not children, they were numbers. That last one was difficult to convince himself of, his inclination towards words hurting him again.

These children, and their words, did their best to embed themselves in Caesar Flickerman's heart. In his first few years, Caesar did what he could to block them all out. When he saw the girl from District 1 with the cracked smile and unconvincing laugh, he thought of her numbers.

* * *

District?

_1._

Age?

_17._

Odds?

_6-1._

* * *

Not bad. She could make it out. It was harder with others, though. His first twelve year old, in his second year of interviewing, almost broke his heart once he wormed his way in.

* * *

District?

_8._

Age?

_12._

Odds?

_92-1._

* * *

"So Ricky," Caesar's voice was very close to cracking at this point, "You seem like a smart," he almost said 'kid', but stopped himself just in time, "Man. Do you think that you could work that to your favour in the arena?"

Frankly, Ricky looked surprised to be asked. He clearly didn't think much of his intelligence. Caesar had only brought it up because he couldn't think of any other talents to attribute to the skinny child.

"Uh," Ricky squinted in the bright lights, "Yeah, I guess so. I'm kind of fast, so if I get out of the bloodbath quickly enough, I can use that to you know… stay alive."

"Very astute of you," Caesar smiled outwardly, but as he looked around the crowd, he knew no one believed him.

* * *

Ricky was the first tribute to worm his way into Caesar's heart, and that was when Caesar Flickerman realised he couldn't prevent it indefinitely. There would always be tributes who managed it, somehow. And so he allowed himself a small quota. One tribute every year. One tribute he was allowed to care about.

* * *

_1/24 x 100 = 4.1667_

* * *

He was allowed to care about over four per cent of the tributes he interviewed. He decided that this was enough. However, to choose only one was always difficult if you made it a cognitive matter.

It had to come straight from the heart. Which one did you latch onto? Which one did you root for? Which one made you want to cry?

Over his fifty three years of interviewing, (he hosted over seventy per cent of the Hunger Games,) he let fifty three children into his heart. Those are the children that you shall read about.

* * *

**I totally understand that this chapter is really strange. Sorry about that. This chapter is an introduction to our story, and so in a very different format from the chapters to follow. I'm going to write fifty-three more chapters from here, each one dedicated to that tribute Caesar let into his heart. They'll each be under 200 words, which means I should get them up pretty quick. If you liked this, or if you hated this, please let me know in a review, because I really like this story so far, and I want to make it as good as it can be, and I'd love some response for it.**

**xx - L.**


	2. Ricky Hart - The First

District?

_8._

Age?

_12._

Odds?

_92-1._

* * *

Caesar had a man named Arkene working alongside him before Claudius Templesmith debuted. Arkene Tenebree was known for his jovial style to his commentary, for his humour, and for largely entertaining his audiences. When Caesar came in for his first year of commentary and interviewing, he aspired to be just like Arkene. He looked up to him, until one day the next year, when he promptly stopped.

The chariots were wheeling around the main city square just as they always did. Caesar and Arkene were in the best seats of the house, commentating as the tributes passed. Some were fearsome, some beautiful, some scared. Some, as Arkene didn't hesitate to point out, downright embarrassments.

"I don't know about you Caesar, but if my tribute were so skinny, I wouldn't put him in such a revealing outfit," Arkene laughed as the District 8 carriage emerged from the tunnel, where a shaking boy wrapped in yarn from the waist down looked miniscule and cruelly comical, even next to the considerably skinny girl next to him, "Not a gram of muscle Caesar, not a gram!" he laughed jovially, "We'd best hope he's got some other talents to offer…"

Caesar looked down at the boy, and felt his heart break a little. Hurriedly looking down at his program in order to distract himself, Caesar ended up with the name of the tribute that his colleague was so cruelly mocking burned into his vision. Even more prominent than the name, Ricky Hart, was the boy's age. Twelve years old.

"Don't you think so, Caesar?"

Caesar had no idea what Arkene had been saying. He had been too busy studying the skinny boy. Remembering his dark hair, the flush on his cheeks. Those skinny arms couldn't throw a spear, not to save his life. Which it would have to do. He thought, for the first time ever, about a tribute's family back home. He wondered whether Ricky's parents would outlive him. Most likely, unless they were already dead. Caesar ignored Arkene for one second longer, as he wondered how he'd managed to choose the one already, and wondered how awful the interview would be.

"What do you think, Caesar?" Arkene asked again, his frozen smile faltering a little.

Caesar looked away from Ricky, and mustered his bravado, "What do I think? I think we should take a look at District 4, don't they just look fantastic?" he roared. But his mind wasn't on the tributes from 4. He didn't even know their names.

* * *

Ricky Hart died with a knife in his chest, on the ground, next to the backpack he wanted so badly. His tears ran into the dirt, but you couldn't see them with all the blood. No tributes spared him a second glance. Caesar wished he could be so nonchalant.

* * *

**Well, I guess I lied when I said that these pieces would be under 200 words. I can honestly tell you, however, that they'll all be under 500, so nothing too big for you! Thanks for the great reception on the last chapter, if this chapter could get that many reviews I would be over the moon - and probably bring up the next chapter sooner! I'll take requests for tributes as well - if you have an OC that you want to see written about, I'll happily do it.**

**xx - L.**


	3. Thalia Errons - The Second

District?

_4._

Age?

_15._

Odds?

_9-1._

* * *

Caesar didn't think he'd end up rooting for a favourite. In the previous year, Caesar was alone in his concern for Ricky. But once Thalia looked like she could win, the sponsors went wild. Killing the remaining two of her alliance in under a minute? She was an instant favourite.

The thing was, Caesar picked very late that year. Not intentionally, but still. His heart didn't leap at anyone in the chariot rides. After the tumultuous sadness that was little Ricky the previous year, Caesar couldn't bear to lend his heart to another weakling. He waited. No one became apparent. It was in this year that he realised that it was the heart, not the mind, that chose the one. Even during the Games, Caesar didn't choose anyone. He almost thought he'd got off lucky.

His post-games interview with the apparently invincible Thalia Errons changed his mind. Without her precious spear in hand, without mud smeared onto her face like war-paint, Thalia seemed a lot smaller and a lot less scary. She seemed younger too. It was easy to forget that she was only fifteen when she was slaughtering eighteen year olds. But now, with too much eye makeup on and not enough fabric on her chest, Thalia looked uncomfortable, a little lost, and ultimately youthful.

Caesar wasn't a father, but he could have sworn he felt some paternal instincts kick in that night as he watched the men leer at her. He'd never seen them look quite so hungry. He felt for the girl sitting opposite him, as they struggled through the interview together.

"Well Thalia, we're almost out of time, but I wanted to let you know that I am so glad to see such a lovely and delightful girl make it out."

"Thank you Caesar," Thalia smiled again, this time even more strained, "I wish I could be lovelier," her voice cracked, and Caesar knew what she was thinking.

"Thalia, you couldn't get any lovelier."

Slowly, and unwillingly, Caesar clasped her hand and lifted it in a sign of victory as they stood together before the crowd.

Thalia didn't reply. Caesar was quite sure that she was about to cry.

"I wasn't lovely to those people," she whispered to him as they made their way off-stage, "I'm sorry."

* * *

Thalia Errons died in the bathroom of her new house in the Victor's village only days after moving in, slumped against the wall with no trace of blood staining the tiles. The coroner, (a Capitolite of course), declared it to be death of an unknown causes. Caesar couldn't help but wonder what kind of medication Thalia kept in her bathroom cupboard, and whether the guilt had really caught her that fast.

* * *

**Woah that one was intense. I originally wrote it about 700 words long, so I hope the revised version is up to scratch. If this shortening thing isn't working and you've got any criticism or tips, I want to hear them. Any form of review is appreciated actually, especially if you've got a tribute to submit. On that topic, big thank you to ****_someoneorother123_**** for being the first to submit a tribute. Jade will feature in the next chapter, which should be up tomorrow if all goes to plan. The lovely ****_someoneorother123 _****submitted her tribute with a few key points, which were really helpful to me. So, if you're submitting a tribute, I would ask you to include district, age, name (obviously,) why Caesar chose them and their death. Feel free to get creative. Any other little quirks or ideas are great as well! **

**Sorry for my little monologue there. Hope to see some reviews, and thanks as always for reading! **

**xx - L.**


	4. Jade Dighes - The Third

District?

_10._

Age?

_13._

Odds?

_72-1._

* * *

Caesar didn't choose Jade out of pity. The pity that he'd had for Ricky, who knew he could never survive, or the pity he'd had for Thalia, who'd fought her way into a nightmare. Jade, despite her small size, wispy frame, bad odds and youth, didn't want to be pitied. She stood tall in the chariot parade, drawing Caesar's eyes. Despite being dressed in a repulsive dress of cow skin, Jade carried herself with dignity, smiling at the crowds who laughed so cruelly at her. Instead of shrinking away like her district partner she laughed with them, pointing down at the ridiculous outfit as though to say, "Can you believe it?"

Usually when a tribute had odds as long as Jade's, they were a nervous wreck when it came to the interview. He'd already suffered through plenty of shivering little girls with their meagre chests pushed up, and boys with suits that must have contained shoulder pads. Plenty of kids forgetting what to say, or not speaking loud enough. One, the girl from District 7, had already cried.

When Jade walked onto the stage, it wasn't so much with an air of confidence, as an air of peace. Jade settled down opposite Caesar calmly, smiling as though slightly bemused by all the attention, blinking under the bright lights.

"Hi there Caesar," she smiled.

"Hello there Jade," Caesar smiled back. It was so much easier to interview someone when they weren't shaking or crying or biting their lips.

"You look absolutely lovely tonight Jade," Caesar liked to begin with a compliment.

"Thanks," Jade grinned, "I mean, I'd certainly hope so. Those people prodded me for hours. Some methods of beautifying were very painful, actually!"

Caesar laughed lightly, "I suppose you don't use wax strips to pull off your body hair in District 10?"

"No, not at all!" Jade laughed with him, "I think my district partner hated it even more than I did though. I could hear him screaming abuse at his stylists from the other room!" she giggled, and the audience laughed with her.

Whether in earnest humour or not, Jade Dighes had won over the audience to some extent. And she'd won over Caesar much more wholly. She was the chosen one that year, even though Caesar knew it couldn't end in anything but sadness.

Hiding more completely than Caesar had ever seen a tribute do, Jade made it to the final two. But she knew they would want confrontation of her and that boy from 4. Jade and the audience both know she couldn't kill him if she tried.

* * *

Jade Dighes died as deliberately and bravely as she'd walked onto that stage, a spear in the gut from the moment she stepped outside of her safety. No tears leaked from her vibrant eyes. Caesar wished he could say the same.

* * *

**Thank you ****_someoneorother123 _****for your tribute. I absolutely adored Jade and I hope I have done her justice. I didn't get much response on that last chapter, so if you have anything to say I'd love to hear it. Be it tributes or not, I don't mind. Teaser for next chapter? We've got our first volunteer!**

**xx - L.**


	5. Amaranth Camille - The Fourth

District?

_9._

Age?

_15._

Odds?

_58-1._

* * *

Amaranth Camille was the first volunteer Caesar ever saw. Well, not the first. But the volunteers from 1, 2 and 4, the volunteers who'd rehearsed the moment, the volunteers who had no doubts, didn't capture his attention.

Amaranth did.

Amaranth Camille, who pushed her identical twin back roughly the second her name was called. Amaranth Camille, who shouted out those words that cursed her with certainty. Amaranth Camille, who stormed onto the stage, and looked out at her district as though only now realising what she had done. Amaranth Camille, who kept a face of steely determination, even though she shook at the knees.

Amaranth Camille, who was too small, too skinny, too gentle, to have any sort of chance.

It was of course, this act of selflessness, this act of bravery that made Caesar choose her. He'd never seen anything like it. Sitting next to Arkene, commentating on the reapings, he was temporarily lost for words.

"Look at this Caesar!" Arkene roared, "Look at this tiny girl volunteering! That must be her sister. Maybe even her twin!"

"That's certainly something Arkene," he mused, not even thinking about the words that emerged from his mouth, "This girl is certainly something."

"She's skinny," Arkene said warningly, the realistic voice in the conversation.

"Yes," Caesar agreed, "But she sure is something."

Days later, Amaranth walked onto the stage as though trying to make herself look smaller, her blonde hair thin and her arms fragile, shoulders hunched. She didn't appear as remarkable as she was in Caesar's eyes. The conversation at the beginning was gentle, easy. But Caesar knew what the audience was dying to hear. The time ticked down.

"Amaranth, I think you touched us all when you volunteered for your sister. Tell me about her," Caesar leaned forward ever-so-slightly.

"Well," Amaranth said in a slow and trembling voice, "She's actually my identical twin. Her name is Poppy and we're best friends."

"And why is it precisely," Caesar asked, "That you volunteered for her? Was there a motive other than the initial instinct to save Poppy?"

"Yes," Amaranth took a deep breath, and sat up straighter, "My sister Poppy was… in love. And… she was pregnant."

The audience wailed and sighed as though it weren't entirely their fault. Tears shone in Amaranth's eyes, but she didn't let them escape.

"Amaranth," Caesar leant forwards, laying a hand over hers, "I think you should know that you have done a truly wonderful thing."

* * *

Amaranth Camille died lying on the sand by the Cornucopia, body curled around the knife her district partner had thrust into her gut, the loaf of bread she'd died fighting for trampled by his boots. Amaranth didn't cry, but rather looked peaceful and almost happy. Somewhere in District 9, tears ran onto the bump in Poppy's abdomen. Caesar knew that Amaranth understood the wonderful thing she had done.

* * *

**Sorry for not updating last night! I was rowing and then doing large amounts of maths *vomits.* Thanks to ****_DarkHorseBlueSky _****for submitting the wonderful Amaranth! I'm so sorry about writing in the other name before! I can't track our conversations very easily because you've disabled PMs, so I got it confused. I'm so sorry. If any of you have a tribute you want to submit, don't hesitate to do so. You guys really submit great characters and I love reading them and then writing my own take on them :) Teaser for next chapter? A very unusual character.**

**xx - L.**


	6. Blake Billings - The Fifth

District?

_3._

Age?

_16._

Odds?

_64-1._

* * *

No one had ever seen a tribute like Blake Billings. In the Capitol people like him were hushed up. Perhaps that was the case in the districts too, but no matter how much you pretended your son wasn't real, or how many hours you locked him inside, you couldn't save him from this. That's what Caesar figured anyhow.

It took Caesar a little while to figure it out that something was wrong with Blake, but eventually he put together the clues.

_Clue 1: A bizarre smile._

Sure, Blake was bigger than your average District 3 tribute, properly nourished and muscly. But still. Every now and then, an outer district turned out a strong kid. It happened. But they never won. Everyone knew that. So when Blake mounted the stage, looking fairly upset, then noticed a bird, pointed it out and beamed, Caesar's heart broke a little. He knew that this boy, this bizarrely and suddenly happy boy, would never get home.

Especially if he forgot the danger he was in at the sight of a pretty bird.

_Clue 2: A childish trick._

Caesar liked to watch the tributes train. Cameras followed them everywhere, so it wasn't hard. One day he was watching as usual, a brightly coloured lover flung across his lap, when he noticed something strange.

The girl from District 4, Ayla, had deviated from the rest of her pack and was analysing edible plants, immersed. Blake, unseen by Ayla, took one of the plant samples and managed to wedge it in Ayla's hair without her noticing. When the dark-haired girl finally reached up and removed the twig from her ponytail, Blake stood next to her and laughed, exclaiming in a childish, slightly slurred voice, "Tricked you!"

Caesar frowned, as Ayla smiled nervously. Clearly she wasn't used to people like Blake either. Blake, however, seemed determined to win her over, and picked up a large weight, showing it to her with a grin. Ayla smiled, a bit more genuinely this time, saying kindly, "Muscles like that, you could join our alliance!"

_Clue 3: An agreement with a murderess._

Caesar watched as the girl from 2, Carolina Katz, frowned as Blake's face lit up. She glared at Ayla, and opened her mouth to say something, then paused.

"Actually Ayla," Carolina said sweetly, "I think that's quite a good idea. Would you like to join our alliance Brad?"

Blake nodded eagerly, not even noticing that she got his name wrong.

Caesar buried his face in his hands, scared to death for the boy, and wondering how anyone could ever be so manipulative.

* * *

Blake Billings died quickly, with a look of dawning comprehension taking the place of that goofy smile on his severed head. Caesar wondered, briefly, whether such a gentle boy would ever be forgotten, and if Carolina Katz, who calmly wiped her two curved swords against her shirt, would ever sleep again at night.

* * *

**Sorry about the delay in getting Blake's chapter up! I've never written a character with a mental disability before, so it was pretty hard - I ended up doing a whole lot of research, even if you can't see the evidence of it. It doesn't help that accelerated maths is proving torturous, and my rowing coach thinks we're not working hard enough. Oops. **

**Anyway. Enough with the excuses. I really hope you enjoyed that chapter because I worked very hard on that 500 words. Any advice or response or whatever would make me unbelievably happy. I know my writing's still got a long way to go, and you guys can help me make it better.**

**Thanks to ****_DarlyDixon'sgirl1985 _****for submitting the gentle, child-like Blake Billings. He was a challenge, but it was an honour to write him. And to ****_DarkHorseBlueSky, _****I've fixed up the last chapter so it credits you for Amaranth. Thank you so much for submitting her and I'm so sorry to have stuffed up the crediting at the end. If you had more tributes in mind, I would love to receive them from you :)**

**xx - L.**


	7. Sofia Katz - The Sixth

District?

_2._

Age?

_15._

Odds?

_7-1._

* * *

Everyone remembered Carolina Katz, the brutal yet alluring tribute from District 2. Made it to the final two, hunting the boy from District 4 who'd escaped her massacre of the career alliance. A spear through the ribcage. And so, a loser in Carolina Katz, but not a tribute forgotten.

When Sofia Katz volunteered in identical fashion to her sister before her, Caesar felt not only déjà vu, but also sadness. Why would Sofia, only fifteen, do such a thing? What sort of parents would allow a daughter to die, and then let the other go too?

That was when Caesar realised that Sofia probably didn't have a very happy family. That was when, looking at the screen into her grey-blue eyes, startlingly childlike, he chose her.

Despite her young age and obvious mental hurdles, Sofia proved a tribute to watch. Deadly with the same twin curved swords that her sister favoured; Sofia raced Raze, her district partner, and beat him. She grinned at him, wiping some sweat from her forehead, and Raze smiled back at her. Caesar wondered if anyone else saw the fear in Sofia's eyes.

The interview was always going to be interesting.

"Sofia," Caesar said calmly, "It feels like only yesterday I sat here talking to your sister, Carolina. Why did you choose to volunteer?"

"I volunteered in order to avenge my sister," Sofia said calmly, "Who was killed last year by Jaden King. So, District 4…" Sofia trailed off with a gaze at the wings where the other tributes waited.

"Better watch out," Caesar finished, noticing that her large eyes didn't quite hold the bravado her posture emanated.

Caesar didn't like overhearing things. It made him feel awful. The case of Sofia and Raze that night was no exception.

Picture: Sofia Katz, leaning despondently against the wall. Raze Harkins, towering over her with arms over her head.

"You bullshitted the entire interview," Raze's voice was accusing.

Sofia's was casual, "Of course I did. Who didn't?"

"You didn't volunteer because you wanted blood from District 4. You wanted to prove to your dad that you're better than Carolina was," Raze smiled wickedly.

"I didn't-"

"You always hated her, hated that your dad liked her best. Now that she's gone, all you've got to do is win and you're better than precious Caroli-"

"Stop it Raze!" Sofia yelled, tears pressing at her voice, "Stop making me sound like some sort of monster. I'm scared, okay? I'm scared."

Raze lasted two days in the arena before Sofia took off his head in his sleep.

Caesar wandered what his heart had been thinking. He'd never wanted to quit his job quite so much.

* * *

Sofia Katz died with a smile on her face and a wound in her stomach, two bodies by her side. Two muggers that had succeeded in killing her, but the victor took them with her. Caesar didn't know what to think, except that he really shouldn't have expected anything less.

* * *

**Woah. That got weird. Thank you to ****_DarylDixon'sgirl1985 _****for submitting Sofia, and I'm sorry for all the changes I made to her. I made her a bit evil towards the end, which wasn't really meant to happen initially... I don't know. Interpret it how you like. **

**Sorry about the wait between updates. I used to have this great little idea that because each chapter was only 500 words, I'd get a chapter up every night. I'm sorry, but I've now realised that that is a very unrealistic view. Especially now, in the assessment period. I'll do the best I can.**

**Tributes are always appreciated, and I'd really love some feedback. Was this one any good? I have no idea what to think of it. I just hope you don't hate it, but if you do, please let me know and tell me why so I can do better in the future.**

**xx - L.**


	8. Kasia Tremlett - The Seventh

District?

_6._

Age?

_17._

Odds?

_59-1._

As a child, Caesar was fascinated by twins. He remembered the two identical boys in his class, who'd swap names for the day, infuriating teachers. He remembered them fighting intensely, but never being more than two steps from the other's side.

Maybe that was why when he saw Kasia Tremlett, dragged onto the stage with an identical girl gripping her arm, Caesar chose her more quickly and more completely than he'd chosen anyone in years. He remembered the Camille twins, and decided there was definitely a trend developing.

Kasia proved to be largely unremarkable over the days that followed. Her physical features would be completely ordinary if they weren't shared with another human being. Caesar watched her train. Nothing special there. Caesar's mind picked at other tributes, but it seemed his heart was firmly made up. It remained Kasia that he was so anxious to interview, so scared to see die.

Caesar's stomach jumped in preparation for that night, and the anxiety only increased as the bright lights blinded him and glittery children came and went. The butterflies in Caesar's stomach peaked as Kasia walked onto the stage. It would seem though, that these nerves were for nothing. Kasia stubbornly refused to shine. Hunched in her seat, she answered Caesar's questions chiefly in monosyllables, as though there was nothing that she cared about.

But looking into her eyes, Caesar saw flickers of it. Caesar knew there was something there that made her special, that made her care.

"I thought I was seeing double at the reaping Kasia," Caesar said jovially as the audience smiled with him, "You and your sister are completely identical!"

"Well I'd certainly hope so," Kasia's lips curved the tiniest bit, "Considering we're identical twins."

Caesar laughed at himself loudly, and the audience followed suit. It had never felt so good to be laughed at.

"Tell me about her," Caesar stopped laughing, and smiled gently.

Kasia began slowly, "Well, her name's Kaija, and she's really funny…"

Something changed when Kasia spoke about her twin. It wasn't just that she sat up straighter, or smiled more. The spark behind her eyes that Caesar had seen earlier was growing into an inferno warm enough for the entire crowd. They were paying attention now.

"And when we remember things, we almost always say, 'the time one of us,' did whatever, because we can't remember who did what!" Kasia laughed, and the crowd with her.

Caesar saw the girl he'd chosen in front of him, laughing with him on the stage.

* * *

Kasia Tremlett died in the middle of the night, alone, with very little blood. Taking a wrong step in the darkness and falling off a small cliff might seem comical, but Caesar found it anything but. He watched the cameras switch to Kaija Tremlett back in District 6, as the girl rubber her own neck in horror, unable to look away. Caesar tried not to cry, and decided he couldn't handle any more twins.

* * *

**Well, I've written my own tribute again. Sorry about you guys who've submitted who haven't got your tributes yet! I just had this idea and I had to write it - this chapter is a tribute to my lovely friend Caitlyn who turns out to have an awesome twin we didn't even know about. Sorry about killing one of you :) **

**Feedback on this one would be super-mega-awesome-helpful because I haven't written one of my own characters for a while - are they better than the submitted ones or worse or about the same? I'm not going to like stop publishing submissions or anything just curious :) Next week's chapter is a submission. Teaser? Caesar chooses Wiress's district partner!**

**xx - L. **


	9. Flash Hearth - The Eighth

District?

_3._

Age?

_15._

Odds?

_22-1._

* * *

When Caesar saw Flash Hearth mount the stage, he guessed his age to be twelve, maybe thirteen, and resented his heart for its choice. After the heartbreak in the past, Caesar wished his heart didn't jump at weaklings. He closed his eyes in resignation, but his heart spoke to him.

_Just wait. This kid's got something._

Caesar simply told his heart to stop being so fanciful. After all, hadn't he said the same about Amaranth Camille?

But as you know, Caesar had never been a man to ignore his heart. It came with being a man of words. Words had heart. So Caesar waited. And Flash Hearth delivered spectacularly.

Uproar in the Capitol.

That was what Flash Hearth caused when he pulled a nine. It wasn't even the highest score of the day, but no one cared - especially not Caesar, roaring into the microphone. That small face had everyone gaping.

Flash Hearth became the most discussed tribute in years. Caesar was proud, in the most bizarre of ways. He'd picked the winner - of sorts.

The interviews passed quickly, and if not for the score, Flash Hearth would not have been remembered by anyone. All Caesar felt now, was confusion, and plenty of dread. What would happen when Flash entered the arena?

The answer to that question was inconceivable. No one saw it coming, score or otherwise. Flash's feet saved him twice, carrying him from the carnage at impossible speeds.

First surprise: sprinting.

Second surprise: climbing.

Scurrying higher than Caesar had ever seen anyone climb, Flash grinned down as his pursuer gripped her knife tightly and gave up, turning away.

"This boy," Caesar grinned, "Is absolutely full of surprises. Don't you agree, Arkene?"

Arkene merely shrugged, seeing the optimism growing in his partner. Optimism was never appropriate, surprises or not.

"What do you think Flash is attempting here, Arkene?"

Caesar could see that Arkene was tired, and definitely not as interested by this tribute as he was. As far as Caesar knew, Arkene somehow managed to never choose anyone. Arkene was tired as he looked up, but his expression changed with a closer look at the screen.

"Caesar," he said slowly, "I think that you might have been right about this boy."

Because on the screen, Flash Hearth was sitting with cotton wool from his sleeping bag, fertiliser from the plants, diesel taken from a moving contraption in the Cornucopia, a rope from his bag.

Third surprise: a homemade bomb.

* * *

Flash Hearth died with three others dead beside him, just as Caesar had finally let that optimism truly take root in his heart. Naturally, it was crushing. Flash Hearth, with his superior smirk, with his stand out collarbones, with his dark hair and his _bomb. _The bomb that betrayed him. The bomb set off too early, four dead bodies instead of three. Caesar tried to tell himself, that if it was any consolation, at least Flash's district partner won.

* * *

**I'm so sorry for the long time with the updates! Asides from being busy, I was generally having a lot of trouble writing Flash, even though I love him as a character. Idk. Nothing against Flash - he's totally great - so thanks so much _TheMysteriousGeek2345 _for submitting such a great tribute. I wish I could have done him more justice - this chapter didn't quite click for me I don't think, but I wanted to get something up. I've done the best I could :)**

**Because I feel like this chapter maybe wasn't my best, I would really REALLY VERY MUCH enjoy some sort of constructive criticism if you've got some. It would make me so happy and probably love you.**

**Teaser for next chapter: we've got a twisted, totally awesome, thieving and messed up tribute from District 6. Get excited.**

**xx - L.**


	10. Nicodemus DaVinci - The Ninth

District?

_6._

Age?

_14._

Odds?

_37-1._

* * *

Shaggy hair and scars that screamed. The filthiest jacket Caesar had seen. Homeless. Didn't seem to give a shit. Fought with the Peacekeepers who handled him a little rough.

Caesar had always liked puzzles, and so, chose Nicodemus.

Looking at numbers, Nicodemus was exceedingly average. His score was a decent 7 with odds to match. Must have been lifted because of the fight.

However, the words were truly exceptional. Caesar saw them everywhere: in the space where Nicodemus' family should have been standing, in the snarl he wore during the Opening Ceremony.

And the interview.

Caesar instantly regretted asking Nicodemus if he had anyone waiting at home. He watched words leak out of Nicodemus' eyes. Tragic and heartbreaking.

"No. No one."

Caesar watched in awe as Nicodemus' words ran the tracks that tears had made on his face, and slipped into his mouth to be vocalised.

"No siblings. Haven't had parents for years. No friends. Definitely no girlfriend. Not a single person who gives a crap."

The words hovered in mid-air before crashing over the crowd, who responded with silence. No one had ever heard such honesty, never heard tear-duct words before.

"They've got good reason too. I'm a thief," Nicodemus sat up a little straighter, "I might as well tell you this now, because I'm not getting home. Even if I managed to, everyone would hate me," a hollow laugh, "They'd say, 'That victor over there used to be a homeless, penniless thief, and now what? He's living in luxury, watching us starve like we watched him,'" Nicodemus shrugged and a few excess words tumbled off his skinny shoulders, "I thought I should tell the truth, if it's all going to end soon."

Caesar closed his eyes for a short moment, and wished that he hadn't chosen Nicodemus. He decided he was allowed to feel sorry for himself for two seconds, then he would get it together and do what he could to make Nicodemus look-

The buzzer rang, cutting through Caesar's thoughts. Nicodemus walked off without a backward glance.

People spoke about Nicodemus that night, and Caesar watched them with anguish churning in his stomach. It forced its way into his throat. People called Nicodemus mad, bitter, crazy, better dead.

Caesar turned to the woman who lay next to him. She had fallen asleep, leaving him alone with the late-night tribute analysers and their fractured image of Nicodemus DaVinci.

He spoke to her, because it was better than speaking to the television.

"He's not mad, I think. He's a puzzle, more than anything."

* * *

Nicodemus DaVinci died wearing three jackets. Stolen, of course, in typical street-thief style. But they couldn't save him. The cold beat Nicodemus, who finally realised he was about to leave the world he hated. He curled up, and his tears froze to his face where the tear-track words had shone only days before. As the end drew near, Nicodemus smiled, then laughed. Caesar, meanwhile, was doing anything but.

* * *

**I am intensely sorry for disappearing for so long. But, I have good news. My rowing season is finally over, (I raced today,) and I handed in my last essay yesterday. I'm going to have a lot more time in the next few weeks, so hopefully my stories will take off again. Again, so sorry, but I simply really did not have time to be updating. Trust me, I would rather be writing about Caesar and his chosen tributes that about the themes of power and pressure in Lord of the Flies.**

**To the actual chapter: a massive, massive, massive thanks to _DarkHorseBlueSky _for giving me the most detailed, most thought out tribute I have ever received. It was an honour to write a character as great as Nicodemus DaVinci, and I hope I have portrayed him in the way you envisioned. I personally loved this chapter, so I hope you guys like it too. Feedback would be awesome - lets get this story up to 50 reviews, yeah?**

**As for the next chapter, (which I pray isn't too far away in the future,) you're going to meet a career without the career instincts.**

**xx - L.**


	11. Mae Collins - The Tenth

District?

_2. _

Age?

_17. _

Odds?

_4-1._

* * *

During Caesar's tenth year of hosting the interviews three major things happened.

1. Arkene Tenebree retired from being the face of the Hunger Games.

Caesar didn't like his successor – Jamius Hark. Jamius carried himself as though he though himself above Caesar, and also carried a heavy weight of sadness with him always. Caesar felt its weight as it tried to pull him down, too.

2. Caesar had his first crisis.

This crisis did involve him dumping his girlfriend, donating lots of money, getting drunk, questioning who he really was and telling a stripper that he hated his job.

3. Caesar chose Mae Collins to be the one to hurt his heart.

Mae was deadly: tall with broad shoulders, and was nearly all leg, which looked like they'd be more than alright when it came to running. Her tanned skin was scarred, her muscles rippled. All the bets were placed on her.

Initially, Mae was like all tributes from 1, 2 and 4. She knocked the breath from Caesar, made him marvel at the physical strength, the capacity for murder. She enthralled him because she seemed so different from himself.

You'd think that once Caesar learned that there wasn't really much difference between him and Mae Collins, he'd lose interest. But he didn't. Instead, he chose her.

You see, as a result of Caesar's first crisis, he spent a lot of spare time thinking about whether he really was the man everyone saw on stage. Eventually, Caesar had decided that no, he wasn't. He fully realised, for the first time in ten years, that he had been wearing a mask every day at work – an exhausting practice. He needed a rest, and gave himself one.

Eventually the time came to dye his hair, shave his face and put the mask was back on. But when he interviewed Mae Collins four days later, he was so shocked that it almost fell off again.

"Are you excited for the arena, Mae?"

"Absolutely."

The audience didn't see her mask. Caesar did. Mae Collins didn't talk at all about the arena if she could help it. And when Caesar asked her whether she had a people waiting back home, the mask slipped.

"Well Caesar, I have a beautiful family, and a boyfriend I love. I hope I can return to them. And I hope… they'll still love me if I do."

Caesar saw fear, unmasked, in Mae's eyes. He realised that she was just like him.

* * *

Mae Collins died with an axe in her chest and her sword lying discarded on the ground. It wasn't unexpected - Caesar saw the mask slip off to reveal a girl who was sick to death with guilt - but it hurt all the same. Before dying, Mae told the boy from District 7 that she pitied him. Caesar wondered whether one day he'd be sick enough of his mask to do a Mae Collins and let someone else take the guilt.

* * *

**Guys I am so sorry this was meant to be up like three Fridays ago and I have literally no excuse except that I had writer's block which is probably the worst excuse there is. I'm really sorry. **

**Big thanks to _Naturegirl15 _for submitting Mae - she is an awesome tribute, so please don't take my lack of inspiration as a knock against her. She's great, I'm just... tired maybe? I don't know. But I adored her, and I hope I've done her justice.**

**Reviews are awesome, and tribute submissions are even awesomer. I'm on holidays at the moment, so I *should* be able to get a new chapter up soon enough, except you know how I am with these things... (I swear I really will try though.)**

**In the next chapter, we've got an AWESOME tribute from District 7 who Caesar feels like he owes something and has revenge on his mind... should be interesting, right? (I'm literally so excited to write him you have no idea.)**

**xx - L.**


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